


when the pain is true

by Fox (Foxen)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: 5+1 trope, Canonical Character Death (mentioned), Character Study, Comfort Food, Complicated Emotions, Complicated Relationships, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Genocide (Mentioned), Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death (Mentioned), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quality Time, Sick Character, Wounded, food as a love language, forgiveness and redemption, have i mentioned how much i love space mom hera?, past trauma, sibling dynamics, space mom hera owns my heart, war weary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28774905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxen/pseuds/Fox
Summary: Or, five times someone comforts Zeb and one time Zeb seeks comfort for himself.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus & Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Ezra Bridger & Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios & Hera Syndulla, Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios & Sabine Wren, Kanan Jarrus & Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, pre alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb Orrelios
Comments: 52
Kudos: 114
Collections: Kalluzeb: From a Certain Point of View ~ challenge





	1. Hera

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! The last few months since my last update have been... something lol. For those reading my Mandalorian fic Yaim'vhetin -- I'm still working on it! Promise! I just needed a break and after watching Rebels, well, I needed some found family fluff. 
> 
> This fic was inspired by a headcanon post I made. After I posted it I went "I've gotta write that" so here we are. One self indulgent Zeb!Whump fic later.... It ended up being much more of an all around character study than I had anticipated but I'm definitely not complaining!
> 
> Chapters 1-4 are written and 5-6 are fully outlined and being worked on now. All relationships are in the tags already but I'll be adding chapter related tags as I update.
> 
> Special thanks to [HixyStix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HixyStix/pseuds/HixyStix)and [Lia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLuna0304/pseuds/LittleLuna0304%22) for the beta reads! Additional thanks to [Mountainside Possum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mountainside_possum/pseuds/Mountainside_possum) for letting me work though some plot points by rambling in his inbox....
> 
> This is my first fic in this corner of the fandom.

The mission is as much of a success as it is a disaster. They had retrieved the much needed supplies but were ambushed on the way back to the Ghost. This isn't an abnormal occurrence, of course, but what _had_ been out of the ordinary was the frequency with which the pursuing stormtroopers had managed to hit their targets. 

Hera is growing to hate these kinds of missions. 

While she is more than aware of how important it is to have the Ghost ready to take off in a moment's notice, it's times like these where she would much rather be on the ground offering cover fire and making sure all her crew make it back safely inside.

"Spectre One, what's your status?" Hera says over the comms, flipping switches and priming the engines to fire up immediately.

The line hisses and pops and for a second all she can hear is Kanan's huffing breaths and blaster fire in the background. "Nearly-- nearly back to the Ghost." Kanan's voice is strained and Hera's alarmed to hear a note of pain in it. "Be ready to go as soon as we're all onboard."

"Already on it, luv," Hera says, forcing her own voice to stay steady and controlled. 

She hears Kanan's ragged chuckle before he's calling out to the rest of the crew. "Spectre Five, Spectre Four, fall back and provide cover fire. Chopper, Spectre Six, let's get these crates loaded up!"

Hera taps her fingers on the throttle in apprehension, waiting for the go-ahead. This is always the worst part, the moment between stationary hovering and taking off.

"How are they -- _kriff!_ \-- actually managing to hit us?!" Hera's eyes widen at Ezra's words; someone was hit? 

Before she can ask for clarification, Zeb's angry growl cuts in. "I dunno but I don't _karking_ like it!" Hera can hear blaster fire, closer this time, and Zeb snarls. " _Karabast!_ "

"Zeb! Are you okay?" Sabine's voice is measured and assessing and Hera would be impressed at the young woman's composure if she wasn't fighting down her own rising anxiety.

Missions were so much simpler back when she ran them solo.

"I'm fine!" Zeb grunts. There's the sound of his bo-rifle discharging a shot. "Go help Ezra get the last crate up -- I've got you covered.”

Things move quickly from there as they get the last of the hard-won supplies into the cargo hold.

"Get us out of here, Hera!" Kanan yells and Hera doesn't question the order. 

The Ghost takes off and she focuses on maneuvering around the city buildings and air-traffic. She can hear cursing and chatter down below and while she desperately wants to check on her crew, she knows this is her part of the job and she can't step away until it's done. She can do that once she gets them safely into hyperspace.

She quickly manages to do so with limited damage to the shields. As soon as the blue and white of hyperspace begins to streak across her viewscreen, Hera is on her feet and dashing down to the cargo hold.

"Who got hit?" she asks, finally allowing a bit of her worry to color her voice. She quickly scans the scene before her, taking in Zeb leaning against a crate off to the side, Sabine inspecting one of her pauldrons and rubbing at her shoulder with a grimace. Kanan's arm is bleeding from a nasty looking -- but thankfully shallow -- graze, his shirt sleeve shredded and scorched. 

"Would you quit squirming?" Kanan snaps from where he's trying to attend to Ezra's wounds. 

"It _hurts_ ," the boy whines petulantly but he nevertheless endeavours to hold still.

"No shit." Kanan shakes his head as he looks at Ezra's flank through his ruined shirt; his jacket lies discarded on the floor at their feet.

Double checking that Sabine's shoulder is just bruised, Hera looks back to Zeb. "Do you need any help?" she asks, critically eyeing the way he holds his arms crossed over his chest, his chin tucked slightly and ears flattened.

"Nah, 'm fine. It's nothin' I can't handle myself." He jerks his chin at the other two who are still squabbling. "Help them out before Kanan ends up doing more damage to the kid than the bucketheads did."

Hera stares at him for a moment with narrowed eyes, not believing him for even a second. She's noticed that Zeb has a tendency to understate his own injuries and she fully intends on calling him out on it this time. "Fine," she says, "but I'm helping you next." 

"Yeah, yeah," Zeb says dismissively, waving a massive hand in her direction.

Hera rolls her eyes as she turns to the Jedi master and padawan then sighs; the two are hopeless. 

Ezra is standing with his hands behind his head as he stares at the ceiling. He's got a brave face on, but Hera can see he's in pain by the way his eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is set. Kanan sits on a toolbox so his eyes are level with the bleeding graze just above Ezra's left hip. There's a packet of bacta paste held between his teeth as he holds Ezra's shirt up and away with one hand and carefully cleans the wound with his other.

"It'd be easier if you just took the shirt off, Ezra," Hera says, exasperated. "Here, let me help…"

It takes some time but once she's helped get both Ezra and Kanan bandaged up, she says, "Alright, Zeb, get over here." She turns towards the crate he had been leaning against earlier only to find a certain lasat nowhere to be seen.

\----

Dinner that night is a quiet, celebratory affair. They had managed to obtain more crates than they had expected to, so they decided to indulge just a little on some of the extra food. It wasn't something Hera allowed often, but it _had_ been a while since they had saved any actual meats for themselves. They had dried Bantha meat and fruits, crackers, fresh veggies, and _cheese_. Simple fare, Hera supposes, but perfect. It's made better by the general good mood in the galley.

Ezra is back to being his usual chaotic self, the wound on his hip already healing cleanly. He's gushing enthusiastically over the new paint job Sabine had finished on her damaged pauldron. Hera smiles softly as she watches Sabine light up and excitedly explain the meanings behind her newest designs to Ezra. He listens attentively, eyes always on Sabine, but Hera sees him deftly snag a piece of food off Sabine's plate from time to time and tuck it in his pockets. Hera's sure Sabine has noticed, but neither women comment; everyone on the Ghost is intimately familiar with food scarcity and how challenging it can be to let go of old habits.

"What're you smiling about?" Kanan murmurs, sliding into the booth and next to her.

Hera jerks her chin in the direction of Sabine and Ezra. "Just watching them behave like actual kids for a moment."

"Hmmmm," Kanan hums, turning to observe the two teens messing around. "Speaking of behaving like kids... Where's Zeb?"

Hera chuckles, but she feels worry stir in her chest. She hadn't seen him since the cargo hold. "Ezra," she calls, "Have you seen Zeb?"

Ezra looks over at her. "Uhh. Yeah. Said he wasn't hungry, though."

Hera seriously doubts that, but she lets it slide; she'll ask Zeb about it later. She shifts her attention back to Kanan. 

"What's on your busy schedule tonight?"

He lets out an exaggerated groan and slumps in his seat. "Repairing clothing. _Again_. Sometimes I think our clothes will be entirely made up of patches one day."

"Well, if you would stop with the heroics from time to time and just focus on the job, maybe you wouldn't get hit so often!"

"Hey!" Kanan gasps, mock affronted. 

Hera rolls her eyes fondly, popping a bit of cheese in her mouth. She closes her eyes for a second to better savor the creamy taste. When she opens them again, she asks, "Would you like some help patching up the clothes?"

"I certainly wouldn't be opposed to it."

"Great. I'll bring my best set of needles."

"It's a date then."

"Yeah…" she says wistfully. _If only…_ "It's a date." 

\----

Hera quietly slips out of her room later that night after everyone has gone to bed. Well, almost everyone.

As she makes her way to the galley, she can hear Zeb mumbling curses under his breath, just as she knew she would. She's not sure why Zeb continues to refuse their offered help to tend his injuries; everyone has been hit at one point or another and required the assistance of a crew member. Wondering if it's a cultural thing, she comes to a stop in the entryway and crosses her arms, watching Zeb.

The lasat is leaning against the table, his jumpsuit rolled down to his hips. He's awkwardly twisted around in a vain attempt to reach a blaster wound running along his ribs toward his upper back; he must have been hit when he had his bo-rifle raised.

She had intended to give him a stern talking to for dodging her help earlier and his continued insistence on doing this himself, but as she watches him grimace in pain, one hackle raising to reveal one of his sharp canines, she sighs. She realizes harping on him about it is more likely to cause him to further withdraw from their help. He's simply too stubborn and prideful. Better to be just as stubborn back and help him whether he wants it or not.

Zeb looks up at the sound of her sigh. His eyes widen slightly in guilt, his shoulders dropping.

"Uh, Hera! Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

She raises an eyebrow at him. "And weren't you supposed to hang around earlier so I could help you? And you didn't even show up for dinner!" 

He stares at her, his fur bristling slightly in what Hera has come to know over the years as embarrassment.

She holds her hand out. "Come on, Zeb. Hand me the salve so I can help. I want to get back to bed."

His ears flatten against his head. "Hera, really. Ya' don't gotta hel--" He cuts himself off when she levels a glare at him. Fur continuing to bristle and eyes refusing to meet hers, Zeb passes her the container of salve. "Fine," he grumbles.

"Thank you," Hera replies quietly, voice full of sincerity. "Arm up, please."

Zeb does as she asked. He's tall enough that she doesn't need to change her own position to be able to see or get to the wound properly.

Carefully, she touches around the graze, feeling where his skin is hot and irritated. While it's not deep, it's most certainly painful and his skin and fur twitch when she removes her hand.

"I'm going to have to clean this a bit, alright?" 

A grunt is his only response and she looks up to see his face turned away still. 

She sighs. "Keep that arm up," she says, going to grab a clean cloth. Warm, damp rag in hand, she returns to his side and gently cleans off the surrounding skin. "Why didn't you tend to this earlier?"

"Fell asleep…'s why I wasn't at dinner, either."

"Wonder why Ezra didn't say anything…" Hera wonders aloud.

"I, uhh. Might've threatened to give his helmet collection over to Sabine and ask her to paint them in her brightest colors if he mentioned anything…"

"Zeb!" Hera glares up at him. His ears twitch and he keeps his eyes averted. She shakes her head and goes back to cleaning. "I swear, you're as immature as he is sometimes." She surveys her handiwork with a critical eye. Satisfied, she apologetically murmurs, "This will sting," before rubbing the bacta salve onto the wound itself. 

Zeb lets out a low growl but it quickly subsides as the bacta begins to work its magic and numbs the pain. He sighs, his tense shoulders relaxing slightly.

Hera chews at her lip as she begins to wrap his large torso with bandages to keep the antibacterial patches in place.

"Say whatcha gotta say, Hera," Zeb sighs resignedly.

Hera looks up at him with an apologetic smile and he returns it with a sardonically raised eyebrow.

She ponders her words as she cuts the bandage and doesn't speak until she finishes tucking the loose end into place. Stepping back so he can get dressed, Hera cleans up the medical equipment.

"You know you can ask us for help, right? I worry about you sometimes." She worries about him as much as she does the kids in fact, nevermind that he is fifteen years her senior. 

"Oh, _karabast,_ " Zeb mutters under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "You don't need to worry about me, Hera. I can take care of myself."

"That's just it, though! You don't need to take care of yourself alone. Let us help. That's what family does."

Zeb's ears twitch as he stares at her and she stares right back. He lets out a long sigh after a minute and drops his hand from his neck. "I know. It's. Force of habit?" His look turns sheepish and Hera smiles gently at him.

"I know. Just try?"

He rubs the bandage around his chest and nods.

"Great!" She slaps lightly at his arm. "Now get to bed; we have supplies to deliver tomorrow!"

Zeb bats her hands away. "Yes, _mom,"_ he says mockingly, but his eyes are warm with gratitude. 

They make the short walk to their respective rooms and Zeb clears his throat before Hera opens her door. She turns to look at him expectantly.

"Uh, thanks," he says, voice gruff and awkward.

"Anytime, Zeb," she responds softly.


	2. Ezra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a touch more light-hearted 💛
> 
> I love Ezra so much and I especially love his kid-sibling dynamic with both Sabine and Zeb.

Ezra sits cross legged on his bunk and bites at his fingernails. He hasn't slept all night as his stomach has been churning and unsettled with guilt. Guilt isn't something he's terribly familiar with and he finds he doesn't like the sensation at _all_. He glares at his stomach and winces when he chews his nail down too far.

Biting back a curse, he sucks at the tip of his finger to stop the bleeding.

_Think, think, think. There's gotta be a way to fix this._

He's still not entirely used to working with others, let alone with people he cares about. He'd been looking after himself for too long and those habits are hard to break. His reckless behaviors the day before had left Zeb vulnerable to attack and now his roommate was sleeping fitfully in the bunk below him. 

–

Ezra had gotten too cocky, _again_ , and had taunted a few too many troopers than he could handle alone. He was holding his own for the most part but quickly feeling overwhelmed. How many of these guys were there?! He made slow progress through the bucketheads, parrying their shots and managing to get off some of his own. 

Just as he thought he might actually make it out alive, he heard Zeb yell, "Ezra, look out!" right as he felt the prickling sensation of the Force telling him to drop to the ground.

He did without hesitation and barely missed being hit with blaster fire that was very much _not_ set to stun. As he rolled back to his feet Zeb let out a bellowing roar of rage; Ezra figured the lasat's momentary distraction had led to Agent Muttonchops actually landing a hit. The crackling static sound of twin bo-rifles colliding urged Ezra to finish off the stormtroopers as fast as possible.

He managed, somehow, and turned to see Zeb still locked bo-rifle to bo-rifle with Agent Kallus. He could tell the ISB officer was saying something to Zeb and that whatever it was was seriously pissing him off, but he couldn't hear the actual words over the buzzing in his ears.

A flash of grey caught his eye and he looked over to see the Ghost coming in.

 _Kriffing_ _finally_! 

Without pausing, Ezra shot a stun blast at Kallus and yelled at Zeb that their ride was there. Zeb blinked at the fallen agent and scowled. Ezra thought he might finish him off with his bo-rifle or step on his head or something, but instead he growled and folded his weapon back up before turning tail and running up the ramp of the Ghost. Ezra was right on his heels.

Zeb wouldn't talk to him or the rest of the crew as he snatched up a first aid kit and stalked off to one of the gunnery seats. Ezra winced as he caught a brief glance of a burn mark on his chest before he had fully turned around.

Kanan turned to Ezra with a raised eyebrow. "What happened down there?"

Ezra blinked, uncertain. "I'm not sure…." He suspected he was partially to blame, however.

–

Turns out Zeb had been hit on his shoulder by Kallus' extended bo-rifle. After getting them safely into hyperspace, Hera had gone to find Zeb; Ezra had followed despite knowing he probably shouldn't. He just felt bad and wanted to see how Zeb was doing.

He stopped short of the gunnery when he saw the scorch mark on Zeb's chest again. It was just under his right collarbone, its center a nasty red-black burn. Spider-webbing trails of singed fur and burned skin arched away from the wound, creating a starburst pattern.

Ezra gnawed on his bottom lip, his gut churning with guilt. Zeb had obviously taken a direct hit from Kallus' bo-rifle, as only electricity and plasma charges created such burn patterns. And he'd taken the hit because he'd turned to warn _Ezra._

He watched as Hera carefully tended to Zeb's injury; washing it to make sure it didn't get infected, drying the surrounding fur, smoothing on the bacta. Zeb looked out the window the whole time, jaw clenched.

"You want to talk about what happened?" Hera asked. Her voice was full of concern but held no expectation or demands; the tone gave Ezra a feeling of nostalgia as it brought back blurry memories of his mother.

Zeb grunted and the feeling and memories dissipated with the sound. "Not much to say. Kid was bein' foolish as usual and I took a hit while savin' his hide."

Ezra turned away and slid down the wall separating him from them. Before he could wallow in self-pity, he heard Hera scoff lightly.

"Try again, Zeb. I know that's not what's bothering you – you've taken hits for the rest of us in the past, so don't go blaming your mood on Ezra."

"Why are you such a mom?" Zeb grumbled. "Fine. Agent Kallus said some things to provoke me and I might've let them get under my skin this time."

"What'd he say?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does to you, but I won't make you repeat it if you don't want to."

"I'd rather not…" Zeb sighed. "Thanks."

"Any time, Zeb."

Ezra scrambled quietly to his feet and darted towards their room, not wanting to be caught listening.

–

Zeb growls softly in his sleep and Ezra sighs. _What makes me feel better after a bad day?_ he thinks, tapping a finger to his chin. Whatever it is, it's got to double as an apology because he's _awful_ at them and would likely say something to make the whole situation worse. _Stealing something isn't an option… pranking Zeb right now would definitely lead to a slow and painful death...what about…_

He grins as the perfect idea comes to mind. 

Careful not to wake Zeb, Ezra quietly shuffles down the ladder of his bunk and tiptoes out the door. 

The ship is silent, the windows letting in the streaking lights of hyperspace. It's far too early for anyone else to be up yet but that works just fine for Ezra. He makes his way to the galley and stands with his hands on his hips, surveying the unconquered domain.

Making breakfast can't be that hard, right? He's totally got this.

It takes him longer than it should to find the box of space-waffle mix, but that's fine. No big deal. He carefully reads the instructions on the side of the box and slowly gathers up the ingredients and kitchenware he needs. He steps back and looks at the only slightly intimidating array of items now spread across the counter: _Bantha milk, check; porg eggs, check; oil….check; fresh meiloorun, check; sugar, check! Bowls and spoons and a pan, check check check._ He eyes the weird looking waffle iron with trepidation but figures he'll tackle that obstacle when he comes to it.

The batter itself is easy enough to mix, though he does spill some of the powdered mixture. He's in the middle of measuring some out when Chopper rolls in unexpectedly with his usual lack of consideration for anyone else.

"Bahwahhhhh baha bahba!" 

Ezra jumps and the powder misses the cup, getting down his front and all over the counter.

"Chopper!!" he hisses.

The stupid droid just chortles and spins.

Shooting him a glare, Ezra goes back to the task at hand. Chopper settles in to watch, occasionally throwing out an insulting remark or two as he works.

He loses a few eggs when he cracks them wrong but only gets a little shell in the actual mixture (Extra protein, right Chop?). He gets the meiloorun chopped up and the batter mixed and then it's down to the actual cooking. Hera always makes some sort of syrup with the meiloorun by heating a bunch in a pan with some sugar. Seems easy enough. 

He looks from the fruit to the batter and waffle iron and pulls a face. It's some sort of weird press-and-flip contraption.

"What do you think, Chopper?" he asks the droid. "Syrup or waffles first?"

"Wahhhh bahwah."

"Hmmm, yeah. Warm syrup would be best. Okay." He claps his hands and rubs them together. "Here we go!"

The first attempt is a disaster. He pours too much batter and when he presses the sides of the iron together, the batter expands and oozes out the sides all over the place.

Number two isn't much better. He manages to pour the right amount but forgets to lock the iron into place before flipping it and he ends up with a gooey mess.

Chopper snickers and taps his side in a droid approximation of a knee slap.

"It's not funny!" Ezra pouts, wiping bluish waffle batter covered hands on his pants. Chopper laughs harder.

Number three…. He doesn't know what happens with number three. He got it poured and flipped right and it's cooking one minute and then on fire the next.

Somehow he's also on fire. He's on fire and slapping at the waffle iron with a towel, the galley smells like charred waffles, Chopper is so beside himself with glee that his laughter has devolved into hissing static as he sprays Ezra with a fire extinguisher rather than the actual fire, and –

"Oh, _Maker_."

Ezra spins around to see Sabine standing at the entrance to the galley, hand pressed to her mouth to contain her laughter.

"Sabine!" he sputters. "I–"

Chopper blasts him in the face with the fire extinguisher again, cutting him off. Sabine doubles over in silent laughter, flicking a tear away with one finger.

"Haha, very funny." Ezra crosses his arms and stares at the giant mess, disheartened. His eyebrow stings and he pokes at it gingerly. 

Great. He burned part of his eyebrow off. No wonder the other two think the situation is hilarious.

Sabine finally stops laughing and carefully makes her way over to stand next to Ezra.

"Soooo," she says, looking around at the disastrous kitchen. "What exactly are you trying to do?"

Ezra curls his lip and crosses his arms. "Wanted to do something nice for Zeb after yesterday…"

Sabine's eyes soften. "That's real sweet of you Ezra. But you know what happened wasn't your fault, right?"

"Wasn't it though?" He can still hear Zeb's comment and while Hera said that wasn't Zeb's main issue, it still made him queasy with guilt. But he can't let Sabine know he'd heard that conversation so he shoots her a glance before sighing and trying to figure out how to go about cleaning up the disaster. "I kriffed up. Again. Got too cocky and he got hurt because of me."

Sabine hops up on the only clear bit of countertop and rolls her eyes.

"Not everything's about you, Ezra."

"I know that! I–"

He stops when she holds up a hand. "What I mean is. Maybe his mood was because of something else that happened out there."

Zeb _had_ said as much. Ezra remembers the moment he saw Agent Kallus saying something to Zeb and how whatever it was seriously pissed the lasat off. He nods slowly, agreeing with Hera that Kallus' comment had certainly meant _something_ to Zeb, no matter what he said otherwise.

To Sabine, all he says is, "He _was_ fighting Agent Kallus again…"

She slaps lightly at his shoulder. "See! It probably had nothing to do with you and everything to do with that nerf-herder."

"Still," Ezra sighs, scraping at the charred waffle in an attempt to get it off the waffle iron. "I thought he'd appreciate breakfast or something…"

"He definitely would."

"Will you help me?"

"Hell no. This is your mess – I'll supervise."

–

When Zeb finally comes out to see what the chaos is about, Ezra and Sabine haven't made much progress on cleaning up. They're both too busy laughing and making a bigger mess as Chopper spins around and around, arms raised in the air.

"What's goin' on in here? Is that an _eggshell_ Chopper is wearin' as a hat?"

"Oh _sithspit_ ," Ezra says when he notices Zeb standing rather dumbfounded at the edge of the mess. He chews at his bottom lip for a minute. "I was…. trying to make you breakfast?" he explains with a grimace. "But something must be wrong with the waffle iron cause I'm pretty sure they aren't supposed to catch on fire like that and…" He trails off as Zeb covers his eyes with one massive hand, his shoulders shaking. For a second, Ezra is terrified that he's _crying._

But no, Zeb isn't crying – he's laughing. Ezra can hear his muffled, wheezing laughter and begins to smile hopefully.

"I didn't mean for you to get hurt yesterday, I'm sorry."

There. An actual apology! He wants to say more but Zeb just shakes his head, still chuckling, before drawing Ezra into a headlock.

"Hey!" Ezra cries indignantly, his own laughter bubbling back up to the surface. Zeb ruffles his hair before releasing him.

"Were ya trying to make breakfast as an apology or were you planning on giving me food poisonin'?"

"Rude!"

"Want help?"

"Yes?" Ezra says sheepishly.

Sabine rolls her eyes and jumps off the counter. "Go get a change of clothes," she says, pushing at his shoulder.

"But–"

"Go!"

Ezra doesn't question her again and runs to his room to peel off his batter and flour covered clothing. Once redressed, he makes his way back to the kitchen. Sabine is talking quietly to Zeb and somehow they got the space mostly cleaned up in the short time he was gone. She looks over at him and smiles before touching Zeb's arm briefly and nodding at him. 

As she ambles past him on her way to her room she says, "You're fine. Go learn to cook a proper waffle." And then she's gone.

Ezra raises an eyebrow at her and looks back at Zeb who just shrugs.

Walking over to stand next to Zeb, Ezra puts his hands on his hips. "Okay...so. How's this waffler supposed to work, exactly?"


	3. Kanan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Consider last chapter's light-heartedness to be a premptive apology for this chapter.
> 
> Please check the updated tags for possible triggers -- this chapter deals with canonical past traumas.

Try as he might, Kanan _cannot_ get his mind to clear. He furrows his brows in consternation, tries to focus on the texture of his sleep pants under his hands; the firmness of the floor of the Ghost under his knees and shins; the familiar pops and clicks of the pipes and metal sheeting of the ship echoing around him. 

His efforts are in vain however, as the persistent press of _something_ on his mental barriers continues. He'd been feeling the sensation build up over the last day or two and he's pretty sure he knows where, or rather, _who_ , it's coming from; this isn't the first time he's experienced this. He had hoped it would work itself out on its own but it's becoming obvious that it's only going to get worse this time.

The _emotional noise_ is almost loud enough to muffle the physical noise of his door opening, but not quite. There's the hesitant shuffling of feet as the door slides shut again. Kanan remains in his kneeling position with his eyes closed, waiting out his padawan.

"Kanan?"

At the groggy and confused sound of Ezra's voice, Kanan turns to him in concern; Ezra rarely interrupted his nightly meditations and if he _did_ , it was to quietly join him, not to talk. He stands just inside the doorway and Kanan can feel the ebb and flow of agitation around him.

 _Nightmare_? Kanan wonders. For a moment he thinks he has been mistaken and that the tumultuous emotions are Ezra's, but he quickly realizes that other than the agitation, the source is from beyond the boy, not the boy himself.

"My head is so _loud_ and I don't even know _why_ ," Ezra says plaintively, still sounding partially asleep. 

Despite everything that had happened between them since the incident at the Sith Temple, Ezra still trusts him enough to seek comfort from him and ask for help. Kanan sighs as he gets to his feet, something warm and glowing settling under his breastbone. Placing a soothing hand on Ezra's shoulder he asks, "Are you sure it's _your_ head that's being loud?"

Ezra tilts his head and looks at him and despite being groggy, he still manages a rather impressive exasperated tone of voice. "Well of course it's m–" He stops, mouth open and Kanan can practically hear him sifting through things and turning them around in his mind. He knows the moment it clicks by the sound of his exhale. "Oh. _Someone else's_ head is that loud." It's not a question. "And you obviously feel it too."

Kanan nods. "Yes. I've been feeling it grow louder for a while now. I'm guessing it woke you up?"

Ezra makes an affirmative sound. "Do you know who it is?"

Kanan hums and begins to gently direct Ezra towards his bed. "I have my suspicions." And if he's right, Ezra would be better off taking his room for the night; he's pretty sure Hera won't mind if he bunks with her later. At least he hopes she won't.

"If their thoughts are this loud for us," Ezra says as he automatically sits on the bed,"I don't want to know how loud they are for _them_."

Kanan can't help but agree, though he knows he'll likely have a better idea by the end of the night whether he wants to or not.

"Is Zeb in your room?" he asks quietly, and Ezra is so out of it he doesn't even question the non-sequitur.

"Nah, he grumbled a lo' for a bit b'fore–" he cuts himself off with a large yawn,"–Before he stomped out of the room. Not sure where he went and haven't seen him since."

Kanan resists the urge to sigh again. What's Zeb beating himself up over now? 

"Alright, I'm gonna need you to sleep here tonight."

Ezra nods, already slumping to his side and half asleep again. "M'kay, sure." 

With that, the kid is out for the count. Kanan supposes Ezra's mental shields were instinctively raised once his mind was able to identify the emotions as foreign. 

Shaking his head fondly, Kanan maneuvers Ezra properly onto the bed and draws the blankets over him. He's overcome by a now familiar sense of parental protectiveness and he pauses briefly to brush his fingers over Ezra's forehead. He's not sure how or when this crew of his and Hera's had become _family_ , but he's grateful it had.

Steeling himself for the conversation that's likely to come, Kanan leaves his room, shutting the door behind him, and begins his search for Zeb.

Thankfully, there aren't a whole lot of places to hide a being of Zeb's size.

–

Kanan quickly finds the lasat right where he figured he would: on the floor of the cargo bay. He's sitting with his back to one of the walls, his long digitigrade legs semi pulled to his chest. His bo-rifle rests across his hips, fully extended. 

"Leave me alone, Kanan," he says at the sound of Kanan's voice, more growl than actual words. By his tone, Kanan knows he's likely got his ears folded close to his head and his hackles raised in a snarl.

The hairs on the back of Kanan's neck stand on end and he can feel his primal flight or fight response kick in. Thankfully, he's able to ignore those instincts as he's dealt with Zeb like this before and he's no longer intimidated by such threat displays. 

At least not much.

Kanan's just glad the bay is currently empty of any storage crates because he knows from experience that in this mood, Zeb would be perched on the tallest stack if he could. Such a position would put him at a distinct disadvantage for this conversation. Plus, there's the slight possibility of Zeb picking something up and throwing it in his direction if he gets angry enough; he's doing his best to ignore the deadly weapon Zeb already has in his hands.

He doesn't say anything as he takes a seat across from Zeb against the opposite wall. He can feel the weight of Zeb's glare and Kanan calmly raises an eyebrow in response. Zeb growls before turning his attention back to his bo-rifle and Kanan can hear and smell that he's been meticulously cleaning it. The cloth wrappings have been carefully unwound to allow Zeb access to all parts of the weapon, his claws making very light tapping and scraping noises when they come in contact with the metal. 

They sit in the relative quiet of the ship for a while, Zeb studiously polishing his bo-rifle and Kanan making sure his mental barriers are up and holding properly. After Zeb begins to go over the rifle for what has to be the fourth time since he sat down, Kanan finally breaks the silence between them.

"You know, if you keep cleaning and polishing that the way you are you're going to strip the finish right off it."

Zeb scowls and pointedly sets the bo-rifle aside.

Crossing his arms he says, "What do ya want, Kanan?" He's no longer growling; instead, he sounds resigned. Not…. _defeated_ , exactly, but something similar.

Kanan decides to immediately cut to the chase. "Did you know you broadcast your feelings through the Force when you're feeling particularly emotional?"

Zeb turns and stares at him. He isn't stupid by any means and he doesn't demean either of them by pretending he doesn't know what Kanan is getting at. "I...you can't actually read my emotions, can ya?" One of his ears twitches nervously.

Kanan quickly shakes his head. "No, not really. At least not individual ones right now. It's more like a...a very firm _pressure_. It's tumultuous. Chaotic."

Zeb's ears flatten and when he speaks there's a tone in his voice that Kanan thinks might be a bit of shame. "I...I didn't know." He looks up and taps at his head. "It doesn't hurt you, does it?" he asks, voice sounding chagrined.

Kanan shakes his head again. "A little," he admits. "No more than a mild but incredibly persistent headache. It's fine." He huffs a laugh. "I think the only thing it's done to bother Ezra is wake him up. But he promptly fell back asleep so he's probably alright."

Zeb lets out a chuckle. "That sounds like him. Kid can sleep through jus' about anything sometimes."

They sit in silence again for a minute, Zeb wrapping his bo-rifle back up with the fabric. When it becomes obvious that Zeb isn't going to say anything else, Kanan tries to figure out how to continue. 

"So. What's going on, big guy?" he says softly. _Good enough_ , he thinks.

Zeb looks away, his lip curling up enough to bare one sharp fang. Kanan doesn't push, knowing that Zeb is simply gathering his thoughts. Zeb eventually sighs and moves a hand to rub at the back of his neck – a sure sign that he's uncomfortable.

"I...on the ice moon. I wasn't alone."

Of all the things Kanan thought might be on Zeb's mind, the Geonosian moon of Bahryn certainly wasn't one of them. 

Zeb continues, this time unprompted. "When I got in the escape pod, Agent Kallus was right behind me." Kanan can't help the way his eyes go round with shock but luckily Zeb still isn't looking at him. "We wouldn't have made it out alive if it hadn't been for each other."

"What's brought this on?" Kanan asks, trying to make sense of what Zeb is telling him. It's been a few months since Bahryn, at least.

Zeb shakes his head. "Sabine. After the extraction mission to get those pilots out, she told me they were only able to get out so easy because Kallus had let them through a blast door. Gave 'em directions and told her to tell me that we're now even."

Kanan blinks slowly as he processes all of the new information; he will _definitely_ have to talk to Sabine about that at some point. He sets it aside for now, however, and asks, "So… what happened? On the moon?" It's obvious _something_ had happened on that moon, or else Zeb wouldn't be nearly as upset about it as he obviously is.

Zeb leans back against the wall and picks his rifle up again. He runs his hands over the old cloth, seeming to find the gesture soothing. He lets out a long and gusting sigh. "There was a tussle in the pod – I kicked 'im and he was flung backwards into somethin'. We lost control… He broke his leg when we crashed. The _vo'arik_ wanted to continue fighting when we regained consciousness, but his leg made it impossible. _I_ wanted to finish him right then and there but… there's no honor in killing an injured opponent that can't fight back."

Kanan marvels at his friend's strength of will; considering everything Kallus had put them through, Zeb especially, he certainly wouldn't have faulted him had he killed the ISB officer right there. The fact that he hadn't confirms a lot of what Kanan had thought of Zeb's character over the years.

Zeb goes on to tell him about the cold, the transponder, the creatures, and how they eventually made their way out of the cave. He stops there, expression distant, unfocused.

"There's more to what happened, isn't there?" Kanan carefully prods. Despite all he had already shared, there still had to be more for Zeb to be so conflicted. This went beyond two enemies setting aside their differences long enough to survive mutual peril, though it does explain the comment the ISB agent had made to Sabine.

Zeb stares at the bo-rifle he holds in his grasp. He turns it over a few times before looking up and meeting Kanan's sightless gaze.

"How much do you know about the lasat High Honor Guard?"

Kanan blinks at the unexpected question. "Uh, not a whole lot," he admits. He hadn't even known Zeb was a member of the Guard, let alone _captain_ , until a few months ago.

"Bo-rifles," Zeb explains gruffly, gesturing with the weapon, "are exclusively used by the Guard. To own one is a great honor, a mark of your skill and strength as a warrior. I had assumed that Kallus had stolen his as a trophy during the massacre of my people. For him to have one in his possession… it felt like insult to injury, ya know? So I confronted him about it. Turns out he had earned it in a fight with one of my Guardsmen. It had been gifted to him as part of the _Boosahn Keeraw,_ the Way of the Warrior. No member of the Guard would have given up their bo-rifle to someone had they not fought with skill and honor."

"Zeb," Kanan says cautiously, "how do you know he wasn't lying to you?"

But Zeb is already shaking his head before he has even finished the question. "He wasn't. There was too much sincerity in his voice for it to be anything but the truth." He picked at a loose thread with his claw, once again avoiding looking at Kanan. "And there woulda been no point in lying given the circumstances." 

Kanan's pretty sure he's beginning to piece together the reasons for some of Zeb's emotions when the lasat continues.

"After we made it to the surface and found shelter...Kanan, he said he had no idea Lasan was going to be made into an example. That he was following orders when he found himself in the middle of a _genocide_." 

There's a catch in his last words and Kanan's chest aches in empathy. The crack in his voice is so full of anger and confusion and grief and it ebbs out of his friend to drip to the cargo bay floor. His own heart races as memories and emotions he had buried years ago begin to resurface and he can't quite shove them back down before Zeb is talking again.

"And now 'Bine comes home and tells me he helped get her and the pilots out safely and I feel _sick_ 'cause my firs' thought was one of _gratitude_ for helping the kids out an' the next was _concern_ for his _own_ safety. I felt grudgin' respect for him on that moon and now it's grown." His words are rolling together, his accent thickening as he tries to articulate what's going through his head. "How can I respect a man who had been hunting us for years, who played a role in the deaths of _my own people?_ Anything other than hatred for him is a direct betrayal of everyone I've lost…."

He trails off into a broken whine and Kanan finds himself on his feet and moving across the bay to crouch at Zeb's side. He gently places a hand on his forearm, trying to provide what little comfort he can. He feels his grief like a tangible thing when he makes contact and he lets out his own shuddering breath.

He has a very good idea of what's going through Zeb's mind right now because he's been through something entirely too similar. As much as he really doesn't want to ever have to think of it again, let alone _talk_ about it, Kanan realizes that he might have to if he wants to help Zeb. Hera and Ahsoka had helped him through the mess and it's only fair that he helps his friend in return.

"Zeb…" he starts, only to immediately trail off because how is he supposed to do this? What's he supposed to say? He takes a deep breath and tries to center himself, hoping to the Force that he'll know the right words when he needs them. He can sense Zeb looking at him now and picks up on a feeling of dull curiosity from him.

One more deep breath. Then another. He can do this. "I've… I have a good idea of what you're experiencing right now. Because I've had a similar experience before. I don't… I've only spoken about it with Hera."

He feels Zeb's arm shift under his hand.

"You don't gotta–"

Kanan shakes his head and shifts his position until they're sitting side by side. "No, Zeb, I do. I need to get it out there and you need to know you aren't alone in this. Just… give me a moment." When Zeb remains quiet, Kanan leans his head back against the wall and closes his sightless eyes. One more deep breath. A sigh.

He can do this.

"Remember when we first met Rex and the other clones?"

Zeb huffs. "Hard to forget considering I was made into worm-bait."

Kanan's mouth quirks up. "Right. Well. Do you remember how I refused to trust them?" At Zeb's affirmative hum, he continues, "When… when I…" _Kriffing_ hell. This is ridiculous. He gently hits the back of his head against the wall in frustration. "When Order 66 came through, I was fourteen. I'd been living at the Jedi Temple since I was a little kid, young enough that the Jedi were all I knew." 

He says it quickly, clinically. He feels Zeb startle next to him when says "Order 66" but he pushes on, not letting Zeb interrupt. If he stops now he'll never finish. "I was taken on as a padawan very young. Thirteen, maybe. Master Billaba was a great mentor in the short time I knew her. Her clone troopers loved her. Anyway, the war was ramping up, troopers were being sent out earlier and earlier. I… the captain didn't look older than 16, the commander 18. One of the newbies looked my age. Didn't even have a _name_ yet when I met him."

Kanan pauses then to squeeze at the bridge of his nose. 

"Did you know clones were engineered to mature faster than a regular human?" 

"I'd heard mutterin's, but that's all," Zeb says quietly.

"Well, they were. Despite their appearances, I was significantly older than all of them." Kanan sighs, steeling himself for the rest. "I befriended the nameless one – he earned the name Stance after I was shot twice on our first big mission...he stood over me and kept the clankers away. Kept me alive. He was my first friend. My only friend, really, for a long time. He was shot and killed on our second mission. I–" 

His voice cracks and he can feel the weight of Stance in his arms, the way his body slumped as the light died in his eyes. His shoulders shake and he realizes he's crying but he can't _stop_. He can only move forward.

"I held him while he died. Felt him take his last breath in my arms. A part of me died that day, I think. The rest of me died a few weeks later when we were on my third mission. We had been successful... Commander Grey and Captain Styles were laughing and joking and despite the agony I still felt losing Stance, I felt….I felt like I was exactly where I belonged, that everything was going to work out. We were sitting around a campfire when the order was given." 

Kanan knows he's dissociating at this point – he feels like he's floating, like his head is too heavy. His lack of visual input only makes the feeling of non-existence stronger. He doesn't know what his voice is doing, only that he's still talking. 

"One moment we're laughing together and they're declaring their utter loyalty to Master Billaba. And the next they're accusing us of betrayal and that we were to be executed right then. I – in defence I sliced through men I had fought alongside just hours before. We ran, they followed. Billaba turned to fight...told me to run. I ran. I heard her get shot. Watched her fall to the ground. The rest of the kid I had been died when she did. I ran again. I ran for months and Styles and Grey chased me the entire time. They only stopped when they were killed. I started going by Kanan Jarrus then and tried to never look back. Didn't use my lightsaber or the Force until I met Hera nearly a decade later." 

Kanan sighs and slowly comes back to himself. The hardest part was over. He shifts, realizing he had drawn his knees up and had rested his forehead against them during his tale. He straightens up, sniffling. He probably looks a mess but he can't bring himself to care.

"Meeting Rex, Wolffe, and Gregor was... unexpected. Hard. They brought back so many memories I had thought were long since buried. I _hated_ them. Resented them. I certainly couldn't trust them. They turned on the Jedi. Killed them _all_. Tried their damnedest to kill me. As we continued to work with them… when I saw how much Ahsoka loved Rex despite what had happened… I started to let go of that hate. I learned to respect him. I started liking him, _befriended_ him. And now he's like crew, like family. And during that entire process I felt like _I_ was betraying the Jedi. How could I so much as work with – let alone _befriend_ – one of those responsible for the massacre of my people?" He chuckles humorlessly. "I found out while talking with him one day that the clones had no say in what they had done. That they all unknowingly carried a chip that had been implanted in their brains during their development. A chip that activated when Emperor Palpatine initiated the order. Some clones went mad trying to fight the chips' influence. Some never realized what had happened – everything felt perfectly fine. And others… couldn't live with what they had done."

Zeb had been completely silent and still the entire time; Kanan only knows he had stayed there because of the continued presence of his body heat. Straightening up, Kanan turns to directly face him. 

"Zeb, we fight the Empire because of the atrocities they commit, the freedoms they limit. We fight them because of their choke-hold on the people in this galaxy and because it's the right thing to do. We have that choice and we make it every day. But I've learned over the years that sometimes things aren't so black and white. That the Empire preys on and manipulates the weak and vulnerable. Rex and the clones – they had no choice in what they did. Every bit of agency they had was stripped from them the moment that chip was activated. Perhaps… perhaps Agent Kallus had no say when he joined the Empire's ranks. Or if he did, he obviously didn't know what he signed up for. We know their cadets are indoctrinated – Sabine has told us as much. Some realize this early on, like her. Others don't see it until much later. Or at all. The fact Kallus helped Sabine and Antilles the other day tells me that whatever you said on that moon, it caused something to shift in him."

Zeb breaks his silence with a gruff, "What're you saying, Kanan? That I should forgive an' forget?"

Kanan shakes his head. " _Kriff_ , no. I won't ever forgive Styles and Grey or any of the clones directly responsible for the slaughter of the Jedi. And I certainly can't forget what happened; it'll haunt me until the day I die. What I _am_ saying though is that, maybe consider his agency? Or lack thereof. Maybe he'll change now that you got him thinking. Maybe him helping Sabine is just the start. I don't know. But Zeb?" He places his hand back on Zeb's arm. "You don't have to forgive someone to give them a second chance. Us forgiving them doesn't give them a path to redemption – that's on them and them alone. But we can help them find that path."

They sit in silence then. Kanan feels utterly exhausted. Hollowed out and tied down. And yet, paradoxically, he feels lighter, somehow. Like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Ya know. I don't think I've ever heard you say so much at one time," Zeb muses.

Kanan huffs a laugh. "I'm as surprised as you are, believe me."

More silence. Then, "I still hate him."

Kanan shrugs. "He kind of deserves it. But that doesn't mean you can't also hope he'll do better. Or respect him for whatever code of honor he might follow. And I promise you, feeling anything other than hate for him isn't a betrayal of your people. Or yourself. If anything, your ability to feel those other emotions despite everything is just proof of your compassion."

"Ugh," Zeb groans good-naturedly and Kanan laughs.

"It's true. Besides, if we didn't give second chances, there wouldn't _be_ a Rebellion. Some of our best operatives are ex-imperial. We wouldn't even have Sabine."

"Providin' second chances provides them with a chance t'do the right thing. Without one, they'd be too afraid to take that chance…"

"Now you're talking like a Jedi," Kanan says, leaning into Zeb and elbowing his side lightly. He sighs and settles back against the wall, a small smile curling his lips. He carefully lowers his mental barriers and is relieved to feel a deep sense of contemplation. There's still conflict and confusion, which is only to be expected, but it's not all consuming and wrapped in guilt and rage. Kanan counts it as a win.

"Kanan?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. For sharin'. And for understandin'. You really didn't have to, but I appreciate that you did."

"You're welcome," he says, and means it. "I think I needed to say it as much as you needed to hear it. Now, however, I hope I can get up off this floor…"

"Oh, shut it," Zeb growls. He immediately follows up with a grunt and groan as he moves to stand. "I've been sitting here longer than you and I'm a fair bit older, too. Here."

Kanan feels Zeb's large hand tap his own, offering him help. 

Kanan takes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STANCE T_T  
> Kanan's comics wrecked me
> 
> the word _vo'arik_ is part of Anath_Tsurugi's lasana and roughly translates to 'bastard'


	4. Sabine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another sibling dynamic I adore and wish we got more of....
> 
> School has been keeping me incredibly busy BUT this fic is finished! It's done! It'll be just over 20k by the end.

Sabine yawns as she walks back to her room, mug of tea in hand. She should probably just go to bed but she's so close to having her current project finished and she's on a roll. Sleep can wait; inspiration cannot. The tea is her last ditch effort at staying awake. Technically she could nab a stim from their small medbay but the last time she did that for an art project she ended up on the receiving end of both Kanan's and Hera's perfected Disappointed Parent expressions. 

Staying up to finish wasn't worth seeing those looks again. Nothing was, really

She's just passing Kanan's door when a cacophonous sneeze resonates from Zeb's and Ezra's room, startling her. It's immediately followed by low grumbles and Ezra loudly complaining.

"Oh, _gross_!! Zeb!"

There's a snarl that devolves into a hacking cough as Sabine gingerly shakes the scalding hot tea off her hand from where it had landed after she jumped. She looks up in time to see their bedroom door open, the rather pungent smell of a sick lasat wafting out.

Sabine winces in sympathy as Ezra practically runs out of the room, calling over his shoulder, "I can't deal with this anymore – I'm gonna go sleep in the gunnery seat. Or at the table. Anywhere's better than in here!" He looks directly up at Sabine then and gives her a small wave. "Oh, hey. He's got a cold or something," he says, jerking his thumb at the now closed door. "I don't wanna catch it sooo I'm gonna…"

"Sleep elsewhere?" Sabine says drily, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah." His eyes light up. "Hey, could I maybe bunk in your–"

She cuts him off before he can finish. "Nope."

Ezra scrunches his nose but shrugs as he begins walking to the small galley. "Worth a shot."

Sabine rolls her eyes but calls after him, "You know humans can't catch the same things that get sentients like lasat and wookiees sick, right?"

"Yeah, sure. That's cool. But that does nothing to alleviate the smell." With that, the galley door slides shut, leaving Sabine in the relatively quiet hall.

Ezra had a valid point. Still. Poor Zeb. She'd only ever seen him sick once or twice before and each time took a lot out of him. 

She stares at her still-hot mug of tea, thinking. Zeb is a warrior; he's probably as stressed about feeling off his game as he is about actually feeling sick. As a fellow warrior, she can relate. Being sick sucks but when it leaves your primary weapon, your own body, feeling weak and vulnerable? It's a special kind of hell. She sighs, decision made.

Looks like she won't be finishing her project tonight after all.

She raps her knuckles on Zeb's door and is greeted with another low growl.

"Who'sit and waddaya want?"

"It's Sabine. Can I come in?"

There's a pause and she's pretty sure she can hear him shuffling around. "Sure. Don't know why'd you want to though."

Sabine takes a fortifying breath and opens the door. Yeah, she can definitely understand why Ezra wanted to get out. But Zeb is family and could likely use some comfort right now. She steps inside the dark and gloomy room, moving carefully as to not trip over any of Ezra's stuff; she knows none of it would be Zeb's because, like her, his early training prevents him from being anything other than clean and tidy.

"You're sick," she says in response to his last comment.

There's a low, humorless chuckle from ahead and she can make out his form on his bunk. "Whatever gave you that idea?" He says sarcastically.

Sabine stops in the middle of the room and raises her eyebrow again. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe the sneeze from a minute ago? It was loud enough to wake a pod of purrgil in the next sector over."

The gentle teasing does just what she hoped it would; Zeb laughs again and this time there's humor in it, even as it ends in a barking cough.

"Can I turn on the lights or…?"

"Ah, no," Zeb says, sounding apologetic. "They, uh. My eyes're sensitive right now. Lights feel like laser beams directed into my brain." He pauses briefly and Sabine waits for him to continue, both hands holding her mug to her chest. "I suppose you could...turn on the small desk lamp Ezra picked up a while ago. I still forget you humans can't see for Bantha shit in the dark."

Sabine shuffles over to the small desk and finds the light. It lets out a soft, yellow glow and Zeb sighs.

Instead of putting her mug on the desk, she looks up at Zeb and offers it to him. 

"Want my tea?"

Zeb is sitting on his bunk, hunched over and looking miserable. His ears are low, his shoulders slumped. Kriff, even his bristling sideburns drooped. His armor and jumpsuit are in an uncharacteristic pile at the side of his bed, leaving him in a dark tank top and undershorts. He looks…small.

He eyes her skeptically for a second before nodding and accepting the mug; the bright yellow and purple splattered cup is dwarfed by his large hands and the delicate way he holds it up to take a sip would be comical if he wasn't so obviously sick.

Sabine shifts from foot to foot, arms crossed, while Zeb sips at the tea. These kinds of moments are difficult for her and she never knows what to say during them – unlike Hera or Kanan. But she can do this. She can. She just has to set aside her own discomfort for a moment.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" There. That wasn't so hard.

Zeb sighs and passes her mug back to her; she takes it back carefully and lets it dangle from her fingers by the handle as she recrosses her arms. He shivers slightly, causing his short fur to stand on end.

"I don't wanna put you out or nothin' but do ya happen to have any spare blankets?" Zeb asks, rubbing at the back of his neck and averting his eyes. "'m always cold when I get sick."

Sabine smiles softly. "Yeah, I think I know where to find some. I'll be right back."

"Thank you," he says as she turns towards the door. Anything she might have said in reply is cut off by another deafening sneeze. Zeb groans pathetically and turns to lay back down and bury himself in the blankets he already has.

Sabine wrinkles her nose and makes for a quick exit; she'll see if they have any tissue boxes hiding somewhere, too.

–

It doesn't take Sabine long to track down the few spare blankets they have on the Ghost. Hera even helps out after she explained why she's looking for them.

"Poor Zeb," Hera says sympathetically as she tugs another blanket out of one of the storage lockers. Placing it on top of the others stacked precariously in Sabine's arms, she continues, "I remember the first time he got sick when it was just me, him, and Kanan. Lasat immune systems are apparently very robust and efficient so when they do get sick…."

"They get _really_ sick," Sabine finishes.

"Yeah." Hera looks thoughtful for a moment. "Did he say if he wanted anything else?"

Sabine shakes her head and they start heading back towards the sleeping quarters. "No. He seemed reluctant to even ask for these, as though it'd inconvenience me or something."

Hera tilts her head back and groans. "Foolish lasat. Oh." She holds up a finger and Sabine stops walking to look at her. "Based on past experience, he probably has a migraine and various aches and pains. Let me grab a few med stims."

She darts off and is only gone for a second before she returns with what she was looking for.

"Give him this and he'll start feeling less sore in minutes. It'll probably make him sleepy but extra sleep never hurts anyone."

"Thanks, Hera," Sabine says sincerely, shifting the stack of blankets in her arms. "By the way, Ezra will need somewhere to crash for the night. I think he was tired of being surprised by Zeb's sneezing and said something about sleeping in the gunnery."

Hera pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "Of course he did," she sighs. "I'll find him and make him stay with Kanan.

"Or you could room with Kanan and let Ezra take your room for the night," Sabine teases, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Oh, hush." Hera's cheeks darken slightly. "For that I'm giving him your room."

"Hera!"

"I kid! Mostly. Now get those to Zeb."

Sabine narrows her eyes at Hera; it's sometimes hard to tell when the twi'lek is joking.

Hera waves her off and turns towards the ladder to the main storage bay. "Your room is safe, Sabine. Now get."

"It better be," Sabine mutters to herself as she takes her load to Zeb's room.

She kicks at the door lightly to let him know she's coming in, not wanting to startle him. 

"Hey, Zeb, I bring gifts," she calls softly after slipping inside the room.

She finds the lasat curled up in a ball under his blankets. His eyes are closed but Sabine can't tell if he's asleep or not; the tips of his ears tremble with the light shivers wracking through his body. Wincing in sympathy, she sets the blankets down on the floor and the tissues on the small desk then grabs the stim. Fever chills were the absolute _worst._

"Hera gave me something to give you for any pain you might be in. I'm going to inject it now, okay?" She pauses for a second and administers the shot when he doesn't respond. She gently rubs at his shoulder for a moment, soothing the injection site. "Right. That should help. Now let's get you under more blankets."

–

Sabine sits on the edge of the bed after settling the three blankets over the top of Zeb. He's curled with his back to her, head facing away from the desk lamp; his shivering has already subsided at least. She's unsure if it's because of the blankets or the stim.

Unbidden, a memory comes to her then of a time when she had come down with a fever. She must have been very young, as her mother was there, talking softly as she gently ran her hand through her daughter's hair and over her forehead. She remembers how soothing the gesture had been, how comforting.

She only has to think about it for a second before she's shifting into a more comfortable position. Gently, she places her hand on Zeb's head and draws it over the short fur there. She repeats the motion a few times, slow and careful, then strokes at one of his long ears. She idly supposes that might be a weird thing to do but then Zeb sighs contentedly and tilts his head back against her hand. 

"Feels good," he mumbles, words slurring together slightly.

"Yeah? You finally feeling warm again?"

Zeb nods.

They sit in silence for a moment, Sabine continuing the soothing petting motions, before Zeb quietly speaks up.

"Thank you. For not pesterin' or fussin'. I hate being sick. Makes me feel…." He trails off and Sabine easily fills in the blank, already knowing the answer.

"Weak?"

"Yeah," he sighs. "I can't even see straight right now, let alone walk or fight or nothin'. 'm like a defenseless kit again."

Sabine stays quiet, letting Zeb say what he needs to. He's usually a little more withdrawn, a bit unlikely to share anything overly personal with the rest of them. Kind of like her. She thinks back to the Darksaber lessons with Kanan. Sometimes all that's needed to open up is a moment of vulnerability.

Zeb eventually continues, much like she thought he would. His voice is slow and rough as he says, "The warmth and the pettin' also remind me of being a kit...but not in a bad way. Reminds me o' my sister and brothers. We used ta curl up together in our parents bed for naps when it was especially cold outsi'..."

He doesn't say anything else, his words drifting off into a gravely purring sound. Sabine smiles and leans her head back against the wall. Not knowing whether he's asleep or not, she decides to share a memory with him, too.

"I also hate being sick...but I remember my mother making me this amazing soup every time I was unwell. It was spicy enough to drain your sinuses instantly, almost before you even got the spoon in your mouth." She chuckles quietly, then stops as a thought occurs to her: She can now make that soup and feel that comforting nostalgia when she eats it rather than the hollow pain and grief she had felt before reconciling with her family; Zeb would probably always feel his own aching loss as there is no way he could ever get his siblings back. 

There's a growing ache in her chest and it almost makes her stop stroking his head but she doesn't. Instead she says, "Maybe I could make that soup the next time someone gets sick if I can get someone to send me a bit of the spices?" She doesn't mean for it to sound like a question, but it does. She's afraid of inadvertently causing him pain.

But Zeb just grunts and mumbles a, "Tha'd be nice," before promptly letting out a rather loud snore.

Sabine huffs out a laugh. Taking that as her cue to leave, she pats his shoulder once and turns off the lamp. At the door, she turns back towards Zeb's sleeping form and says, " _Jate ca, ori'vod_ ," and leaves him to sleep off his illness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: Good night, big brother


	5. Kallus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be honest, this fic is basically just a bunch of self-indulgent headcanons I expanded into character studies. This chapter more so than the rest, I think. Kallus is a difficult guy to write, particularly at this point in canon.
> 
> Also, have a few cameos!
> 
> Edit: I just realized 3/5 chapters involve food as a method of comfort... Hmmmm....

Kallus sits back from his current project – routine maintenance on one of the base's many droids – and wipes a rivulet of sweat from his brow. His damp hair immediately falls back into his face and he gives an internal sigh. If there was one thing he missed about being an imperial it was the climate controlled bases; the humidity on Yavin 4 this time of year is stifling and he's not sure if he'll ever get used to it.

He pats the side of the droid he had been working on and gives it a soft, "You're good to go," before pulling up the list of droids still in need of repairs. According to his roster, his next 'patient' is a BB unit; he sends it a quick signal indicating it is its turn.

Kallus glances over at a fellow Fulcrum agent currently on a short break between missions. He finds him deeply focused on the intricate repairs of droid by the designation K2SO and decides not to bother him. The cantankerous droid had insisted he needed some inner-workings repaired and that Andor was the only person he'd allow to help. Kallus figures it would be better if he didn't interrupt so that Andor might be able to get some actual rest before he is sent back out.

A light, cooling breeze drifts past and Kallus closes his eyes for a moment and simply _breathes_. While it's been a few months since he had been picked up by the Ghost crew and brought to Yavin, being outside somewhere like the temple grounds is a novel experience. Everything is so _vibrant_ and _clean_. It's relaxing in a way he never would have expected and for a wistful second, he wishes there wasn't an all out war looming somewhere in their near future. 

He sighs and opens his eyes again, looking around the nearby clearing for the BB unit; he supposed he should probably get back to it.

He doesn't see the droid anywhere but he _does_ see Garazeb. The lasat is talking with a rebel pilot he has yet to learn the name of. Kallus is just about to turn away and send for the droid again when something about Zeb's posture catches his attention.

Zeb's ears are folded back, the lines of his body coiled and tense. He's gesturing aggressively, leaning forward into the pilot's personal space. The pilot raises their hands in a placating posture before backing up and turning tail. They all but run back to the hanger and Zeb watches, shoulders slumping. Kallus watches him rub at the back of his neck before heading back to wherever he was working before.

An orange and white BB droid rolls over to Kallus then, beeping a rushed apology in binary. 

"It's fine, BB-8," he assures the droid, patting them on their domed head. "I'm not in any hurry."

BB-8 lets out a trill of relief as Kallus begins to check them over for any damage or debris stuck in their rolling track. He's not paying complete attention to his task, however, as he can't seem to get the interaction between Zeb and the pilot out of his head. He's not sure he's ever seen Zeb quite that irritable since coming to Yavin. What could have upset him like that?

"You seem distracted." 

The sound of Andor's soft, accented voice startles Kallus, though years of self preservation keep him from showing his surprise. He'd never admit it but he's more than a little unnerved that he was startled at all.

He looks up from adjusting BB-8's antenna and raises an eyebrow at the younger man. "What makes you say that?" He's obviously distracted, but he wants to know what tells Andor has picked up on.

"Oh, I don't know," he drawls. "The fact you were staring blankly at BB-8's chassis for a fair bit of time? Or maybe how you've barely said anything to them since getting back to work and you're usually an unexpected chatterbox when working with droids?" He gestures at Kallus with the spanner in his hand. "I can probably go on."

Even years of training can't keep the flush off Kallus' face. Had he really been that distracted thinking about _Zeb_? He pinches the bridge of his nose for a second before looking up at Andor.

"I apologise." _It won't happen again._ The placating thought goes unvoiced, another instinctive byproduct of living and working among people who judge your every word and move, looking for something to exploit. But Kallus no longer works for the Empire which means he can voice his thoughts without repercussion and doesn't need to apologise for any possibly perceived infraction. He runs an agitated hand through his hair, realizes what he's done, and tries to turn the gesture into something casual before getting back to work. 

He studiously pokes at BB-8 and says, "Just saw a – a friend of mine," he admits, tilting his head in the direction Zeb had gone. "I'm pretty sure he's upset about something but I don't know what. Nothing I can do about it until I'm finished here, though, so no use worrying." 

Andor is silent for a moment but he speaks up just as Kallus thinks he's going to let the conversation slide. "You know you can call it a day at any time, right? There's no need for a set schedule, especially when we're supposed to be on leave and only doing this to kill time. None of the repairs we're doing now are critical or mandatory."

Enforced breaks. Flexible schedules. Optional tasks. Ending a shift early because you need to or because you've finished your daily tasks and aren't required to find more to do. Kallus won't admit, even to himself, that the lack of solid, daily routine is enough to make his chest feel tight with panic. How do the rebels ever get anything _done_? How do they stay organized and ready for anything at a moment's notice? 

He quickly pushes his racing thoughts aside and looks up from BB-8. To Andor, he voices only a fraction of what's going through his mind. "It feels odd to leave an assignment only partially completed."

Andor waves him off. "I'll finish BB's maintenance if that's all you're worried about. I've got to hang out here anyway while K finishes recharging." When Kallus still hesitates, Andor rolls his eyes. " _Go_. Check on your friend. I'll send you a message confirming when I'm finished with BB-8."

The fact that Andor is offering to go so far to assuage Kallus' anxieties makes his stomach churn in guilt and shame; again and again the rebels show him kindness he doesn't deserve. He doesn't understand it. Unable to properly voice his gratitude, he simply nods in thanks as he stands up, hoping Andor understands. 

\---

Kallus doesn't get far before he realizes he has absolutely no idea how to go about comforting someone, especially not an angry or upset Garazeb Orrelios. The realization nearly causes him to come to a complete halt on the tarmac. Instead, he grits his teeth and fidgets with the cuff of one of his jacket sleeves and heads towards his bunk. He hates feeling so off balance all the time, never knowing what to do next, always questioning himself. It makes him feel useless and vulnerable -- two of his least favorite sensations.

Well. He's still an intelligence officer and if there's one thing he's good at, it's finding the information he needs or knowing who to question to get it. And right now, there's only one person he feels he can talk to about any of this without being ridiculed half to death.

Once in his room, he sets up some comm equipment, hoping that Hera is within range of subspace frequency communication. She's out with Rex on a routine supply pickup-and-drop and her location depends on what part of the mission she's on. If they're still picking up the supplies or on their way to the drop off location, there'd be no hope in getting a hold of her.

It takes a moment – long enough for Kallus to start fidgeting – but eventually the blinking red light indicating a lack of connection turns a steady green and the flickering blue image of Hera appears before him.

He's not entirely sure how it had happened, but he and Hera had managed to form a decent friendship at some point during the beginning of their stay on Yavin 4; he wonders if she's made it a habit to adopt any stray that she happens to cross paths with. She looks tired from what he can tell now, but well. In all likelihood, he had woken her up during the Ghost's sleep cycle and he hopes she'll forgive him if he did.

He needn't have worried about bothering her – as soon as she notices it's him calling her eyes brighten slightly and a smile curls her lips. "Kallus! It's good to see you."

He nods at her, still unused to such warm and genuine greetings from anyone, let alone the very crew he had hunted down for so long. "Captain Syndulla."

She frowns at him. "It's Hera, Kallus. We've been over this."

"Life long habits are hard to break."

She rolls her eyes, her smile turning fond; it's not the first time he's responded with that. "So, did you need something? You're not one for conversational calls."

He resists the urge to shift and clear his throat. Calling Hera had seemed like a good idea in the moment, but now he doesn't know what to say.

"Kallus? Is something wrong?" 

He refocuses with a blink and notes the way Hera's brow furrows, her eyes full of worry. He swallows and folds his hands behind his back, one wrist held by the opposite hand. "Ah, I apologise. Everything on base is just fine."

She raises a delicate eyebrow. "And what about you?"

From time to time he forgets just how _sharp_ Hera is. And every time he does, it bites him in the ass.

He sighs. He doesn't know what else he expected – the Spectres are always talking about their _feelings_. 

"I'm fine, too."

Hera looks unimpressed. "You called me, remember?"

Right. So he did. He tightens his grip on his own wrist in an attempt to keep himself centered. "It's… Zeb," he admits. He pauses and she doesn't cut in this time. "Something seems to be bothering him, but I don't know what. I saw him get snappy at one of your young pilots earlier. After they scurried away, Zeb seemed to deflate?" He doesn't know why he voices that last statement like a question, only that it's about as close as he can get to outright asking for help.

Hera makes a contemplative humming sound. "Hm, have you seen him around much other than that?"

Now that she mentions it… "No, actually."

"Fool lasat," she sighs, but doesn't elaborate. "Assuming you called for suggestions and not just gossip–" She looks at him pointedly and Kallus fights back a flush rising to his cheeks yet again. "–the best thing you can do for him is to remind him to step back once in a while and take a break. He tends to overwork himself."

The irony is not lost on either of them; Hera is just as aware of his tendency to overwork himself as Andor. 

Hera smiles kindly at what must be a rather perplexed expression on his face. "You're friends, right?"

Are they? He taps a fingertip against his wrist. _Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap hold_. He thinks back to stilted conversations about his time as Fulcrum; Zeb being surprisingly patient and explaining to him that all of the Spectres had an unfortunate habit of teasing people they considered part of the team; the unexpected satisfaction he felt the first time something he said made Zeb laugh; Zeb checking in on him from time to time during the first week or two after the Battle of Atollon.

He gives a slow nod. "Yes, I suppose we are." _He_ at least would like to think of them as such.

"Just hang out with him and keep him company from time to time. Maybe take him something to eat. Mutual breaks will probably do you both some good."

"That's it?" Could helping someone really be as simple as just spending time together? A quick recollection of some of his time with the crew of the Ghost confirms that yes, being in the presence of someone else can indeed help raise your mood.

She nods. "If there's something actually bothering him and he needs to get it off his chest – and as long as you're patient and don't press – he'll likely open up on his own. He usually does."

Kallus considers her words and bites at the inside of his cheek. "And if he doesn't?" Doesn't open up, doesn't consider him as a friend, doesn't want to spend time with him–

"He will." 

Her words are kind but firm and he stares at her; how is she so good at reading him? It's disconcerting. How ever did he make it so far as an Imperial ISB agent if he can be read so easily?

She doesn't comment further, for which Kallus is grateful, and gracefully changes the subject. "We should be back soon, I think, so if food and hanging out doesn't help, I'll be there in a few days to whack some sense into him."

Kallus shakes his head with a small smile, utterly flummoxed by the odd team-as-family dynamic they have; he's not sure he'll ever figure it out. The thought makes him sad for some reason and he shoves it aside for later. "Thank you, Capt–"

"It's _Hera_. How many times do I have to tell you?" 

Her affectionate grin is the only thing that keeps him from straightening his already perfect posture and apologizing; it's not often he slips up twice in one conversation.

_Teasing. She's just teasing. It's not a reprimand._

"Thank you, _Hera_ ," he says, attempting to meet her affectionate tone with sarcastic indulgence, "for your help."

"You're welcome, dear."

Kallus flushes slightly at the endearment – he's not sure he'll ever be used to _those_ , either. There's a lot about being a rebel and working with the Ghost crew that he feels like he'll never get the hang of, apparently.

After saying their goodbyes and disconnecting, Kallus takes a seat on his bunk and contemplates his next move. Hera had suggested taking Zeb food, which seemed like a pretty reasonable place to start. _Plus_ , he thinks just as his stomach growls in hunger, _it's about time I got something to eat anyway_.

\--

Kallus ends up grabbing two rice bowls from the mess-hall – vegetarian for himself and something meaty for Zeb. He'd learned the hard way early on that his system simply can't handle meats after years of military rations and a childhood of very few luxuries. 

He finds Zeb in one of the storerooms taking _inventory_ of all things. 

_What an utter waste_ , he thinks. There are droids for that kind of job – inventory droids like AP-5 who actually _like_ that kind of task – and if Zeb is going to be kept to base the Rebellion should at least make use of his considerable skill and have him training others.

Kallus can tell by watching him that Zeb is definitely upset about something. His shoulders are hunched and tense, his movements jerky and aggressive. His ears are flat against his skull and when he turns towards Kallus he notes the way his upper lip is drawn up in enough of a snarl to bare one of his canines. His overall body language sets Kallus on edge and he finds himself fighting back his instinctive fight-flight-freeze response.

But then Zeb catches sight of him and his posture relaxes a little. Zeb greets him, his snarl shifting into a slight smile. "What're you doin' here?"

Kallus holds up both travel bowls of food. "I figure it's probably close to your break so I've brought lunch." He hesitates for a second, feeling oddly self-conscious. Why does this leave his hands clammy and stomach in knots. It's just Zeb and food. Gesturing at the grubby storage crates he says, "It's nice out and I thought we could go find a spot under the trees to eat."

Zeb stares at him, his ears flicking back and forth. Kallus isn't entirely sure how to read his expression but the longer the silence stretches, the more Kallus' insides churn. _Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all –_

Zeb looks at the crates and sighs, tossing his inventory datapad to the top of one of them. "I could definitely eat," he says, voice low and gravely. He gestures towards the bay doors and the bright sunshine beyond. "Lead the way." 

Kallus thinks he sounds tired. Weary. Hopefully some food and company cheers him up. He nods, resisting the urge to pick up the discarded 'pad, and begins to walk out, Zeb on his heels. When the lasat is walking at his side, Kallus passes him his bowl.

Zeb gives it sniff and hums appreciatively before giving Kallus a sheepish smile. "I, uh, might've lost track of time… I'm a bit more hungry than I thought."

"You and me both."

\--

They don't walk too long, just far enough to be away from most of the noise and bustle of the base. It's surprisingly cooler under the large trees, everything soft and muted. Kallus feels tension he hadn't realized he was carrying ease up and he takes in a deep breath of air and releases it in a sigh. Looking over at Zeb, Kallus can see the forest is having a similar effect on him as well. The furrow between his brows has eased, his stride a little less stuff. Maybe Hera was right when she suggested daily breaks together would be good for them both.

They come across a small clearing a little way past the forest's edge and come to a halt upon unspoken agreement. After settling down on a few boulders amongst the moss and foliage they eat in relative silence for a while. The sounds of wildlife and the wind in the trees are almost the only things to be heard. Every so often a B or A-Wing will pass overhead, engines roaring, but Kallus has gotten used to them; they're nowhere near sounding like a TIE-Fighter and that in and of itself is comfort enough. 

Zeb sighs and Kallus looks over at him. He's holding his rice bowl balanced on one knee and not eating. Instead, he's looking out across the base, his heavy brow furrowed. Kallus doesn't say anything and goes back to his food. He keeps Zeb in the corner of his eye but doesn't look directly at him in hopes that what Hera said is true and that Zeb will open up if he doesn't feel pressured.

He doesn't have to wait long.

"Are ya ever sick of fightin'?" Zeb asks, voice low. 

Kallus does look at him then, a spoon of rice held part way to his mouth in surprise; out of everything he thought might be bothering Zeb, this wasn't really something he had considered. He sets his mostly forgotten spoon back into his bowl as Zeb continues.

"The longer this goes on, the harder it gets to pretend to be something I'm not. Are ya ever tired of keepin' up a strong persona f'r others?" Zeb cuts his eyes over to Kallus and gives a quick shake of his head when he opens his mouth in protest. "Don't tell me it's not a persona, Kal. We both know that's a lie."

Kallus thinks about the question but he's mostly distracted by trying to identify the hint of emotion he's hearing in Zeb's voice. He's almost got his finger on it when Zeb turns away and starts talking again, his voice softer than before.

"I hate havin' downtime. I hate the lulls between fights. I especially hate bein' grounded 'cause I'm _'needed on base right now.'_ " He scoffs, shaking his head again, his ears flattening. "I'm needed on the Ghost with Hera. Or watchin' Kanan's back and makin' sure the kids stay outta' trouble. Not here, doing shit anyone else with halfa brain could do." He pauses and looks down at the bowl in his hands, spinning it idly back and forth. His voice is rough with emotion when he says, "What if somethin' goes wrong while I'm sittin' here? What if someone never comes back? What then?"

Kallus is able to identify the emotions coloring Zeb's tone and he almost wishes he hadn't; he doesn't know what to do with _shame_ and _fear_ when it's his own, let alone when it's someone else's. Especially when it's coming from someone he respects as much as Zeb. He has no idea what to say but he feels like he should say _something_ , anything, so Zeb knows he's not alone in this. 

"I don't know," he starts hesitantly. He keeps his eyes trained on his own bowl as Zeb looks at him. "I've… never really had anyone to worry and care about before. I haven't been in contact with my family for decades and the Empire doesn't exactly encourage making _friends_." He looks up at one of the temples they've turned into a part of their base, traces its tiered sides against the backdrop of blue sky and lush, green leaves. He takes a deep breath – and lets go. "I'm finding I do worry, now. I didn't expect to. I'm used to working through my own anxieties and terror for my own wellbeing, but there's something decidedly more paralyzing about feeling the same things in regards to others."

"Ya feel helpless."

The simple statement is more true than he'd like to admit and he nods with a grimace. It's one of his least favorite emotions. He sighs and sets his bowl down on the ground, looks over at Zeb. Zeb is looking back, an unexpectedly soft expression of forlorn sympathy on his striking face. 

Kallus nods. "Yes." He thinks about the first thing Zeb had asked and figures if there is one person who'd understand and not judge him for his next admission, it would certainly be Zeb. "In all honesty, I've been tired of fighting for a very long time now. I'm not sure I ever wanted to fight, really. I just wanted… order. Peace." He smiles ruefully. "At least _now_ I'm fighting on the right side." 

Zeb huffs a laugh. "Ya know… Despite everything, I'm really glad you're here. I'm glad ya asked questions and realized you were on the wrong side of things. Didn't expect you to go full Fulcrum, but we're lucky you did."

Kallus feels oddly warm at Zeb's words and he says the first thing that comes to mind without thinking about it. "It wasn't a hard conclusion to come to once I had gathered the courage to start digging. Besides, _you're_ on this side – which means it must be the right one to be on because an honorable man as you wouldn't be here if it wasn't."

He doesn't have a chance to feel mortified after he processes what he just said; Zeb's own reaction is much more interesting. His short fur fluffs up – especially down his arms – and his ears flatten to the side, though not against his skull. He ducks his head slightly as his shoulders draw up and all together it's the exact opposite of his body language from earlier. In fact, he actually finds it kind of endearing– 

Just as quickly, Zeb flicks his ears a few times and goes back to eating without saying anything in response. Kallus doesn't comment on Zeb's flustered state as he's currently stuck on the fact that he just thought of him as _endearing_. He feels… well, he doesn't really know what he's feeling. He's a bit uncomfortable, he supposes, but not in a _bad_ way. No, it's more of a nervous giddiness. It sort of reminds him of something he felt a long time ago, something when he–

He deliberately cuts off that train of thought to be picked up later. Instead, he focuses on the way Zeb's body slowly relaxes. He idly wonders if Zeb's body language is similar to that of humans because he's lived amongst them for so long or if lasat body language is just inherently similar. He makes a mental note to ask Zeb about it another time.

Zeb breaks the slightly awkward silence that had fallen between them. "So, what've you been up to?"

Kallus gratefully latches onto the completely mundane question. "I've been helping Andor with odd jobs around the base – today was repairing minor problems for some of the droids." Hating having downtime is something they have in common, he realizes, though for different reasons. "I'm not used to having actual time off where I'm not just encouraged to 'recharge', but it's _expected_." He shakes his head. "It makes me antsy. Like I'm going to be reprimanded if I'm caught not doing anything."

Zeb snorts. "Antsy's a good way of putting it… But, the Rebellion leaders believe breaks are 'essential to maintaining the health and well-being of everyone on base.'" Kallus can practically hear the air quotes in his voice and his mouth twitches up in a smirk. "The only times where breaks aren't enforced are when we're in active defense mode or we're on a mission of some sort."

"It certainly makes sense," Kallus says. "But after decades of rarely having a moment to myself that didn't include work, it doesn't exactly help with the restlessness."

Zeb seems to brighten up a bit, his expression going slightly mischievous. Kallus finds himself both more relieved than expected at the sight of Zeb's more typical demeanor and wary of any sort of teasing comment that Zeb is likely about to make.

"If you'd like," Zeb says, "when our time off aligns we could spar occasionally to get rid of that restlessness." His grin widens. "I could correct your _horrible_ bo-rifle stances and teach ya how to properly handle the weapon."

Kallus feels like he should probably take offense or something at the jab at his ability to handle a bo-rifle, but instead all he feels is a sense of pride and accomplishment at being able to lighten Zeb's mood -- even if it is at his own expense. He rolls his eyes and elbows Zeb's side good naturedly; playful and affectionate physical contact is yet another thing he's trying to get used to, as living in proximity to any of the Ghost crew requires he adapt fast.

"Improper for or not, I'll still kick your ass," he boasts, grinning.

"Ya will not!"

"I've done it before! How about," he says, snapping his finger, "we have a little practice run tonight to see who's right." 

Zeb grins wide, bearing his canines. "Fine. But I'll be saying 'I told you so' in the end."

Their banter continues as they collect their bowls and utensils and head back towards the storage hanger Zeb had been working in. Kallus feels light and there's a warm glowing sensation under his breastbone that he's begun to associate with _happiness_. Even more surprising, however, is how at peace with himself he feels; it's not something he ever remembers feeling before. His mind is quiet, he's content and _happy._

And he knows he owes it all to the man currently walking at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely love the idea of Kallus, Cassian, and Ahsoka working together as Fulcrums... Utter (controlled) chaos and yet another interesting dynamic I'd love to explore. I feel like it would be a mix of rival-friend-sibling dynamics with a dash of fed-up co-worker energy lmao.
> 
> Also, my beta informed me that BB units aren't made until sometime after the Battle of Endor....well, I decided to scrap that bit of canon because I've always headcanoned Poe growing up with BB-8.... and besides, who doesn't love BB-8 anyway?
> 
> Last chapter will be posted next week!


	6. Garazeb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and all the comments you guys have left -- it's been a rough few weeks for me and they have been greatly appreciated.
> 
> Huge thanks to Hixtystix and Lia for their betawork on this project. It's my first chaptered fic over 10k that I've written entirely by myself and I'm very grateful for all the encouragement and support everyone has given me while I've worked on it.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

It doesn't fully hit him at first that they've lost Ezra now, too. He knows Ezra isn't with them on the _Ghost_ , listening to the exalted citizens of Capitol City. He knows he's not there boasting about the success of his insane plan or expressing his joy that the planet and people he loved so dearly are free once more. He knows this. There's an empty space in the cockpit where Ezra would normally be, just as there's an empty space that used to be occupied by Kanan.

But it doesn't register that Ezra is no longer _with_ them – that he's _gone_ in a way that is different than the way that Kanan is gone but hurts just the same – until Hera brings the _Ghost_ in to touch down on their little Lothal base. 

The struggle with Governor Pryce and her stormtroopers and that horrible creature, Rukh, is still evident in the damages made to the platform they had constructed and the ruined supply crates tossed haphazardly around. The random pieces of discarded stormtrooper gear are also a stark reminder of the events from earlier that morning.

Zeb isn't sure what triggers the realization – maybe it's the somber quiet of the rest of his little family as they make their way down from the cockpit, maybe it's the lack of uncanny Loth-wolves milling around, or maybe his brain simply had enough time to process the events of the day. Whatever it is causes the realization to hit like an Imperial Star Destroyer, a wave of overwhelming guilt not far behind.

Ezra is gone. Maybe not _gone_ gone, like Kanan and Gregor and so many of Hera's pilots, but he might as well be. 

He's lost a third of his family in less than a week.

And just like with Kanan, _he wasn't there to help save him_. Just like with the Royal Family, he was in the wrong place when he was needed most. Distantly, the rational part of him knows that there wasn't anything he could have done in any of these situations, that had he been close enough to help he likely would have died along with them anyway. But the rest of him doesn't care about that logic. Ezra is gone, just like Kanan, _and he wasn't there to save him._

The others have already made their way off the _Ghost_ and Zeb realizes he's still standing by the ladder leading to the cargo bay. He glances through the doorway at the back of the cockpit and down the corridor to their cabin doors. 

He'll never have to put up with Ezra's messes again; will never be woken up from a nap by the kid barging in already talking at full volume; will never lie awake at night, staring at the bottom of the upper bunk in growing frustration as Ezra mumbles in his sleep; will never crash down the corridor with Ezra hot on his heels as they chase down a chortling Chopper, laughing and yelling the entire time; that there will be no more impromptu late night waffles together, teasing, or banter. No more Ezra, the bratty loth-rat turned crew turned cherished family member. As he looks at the once shared bedroom door, the knowledge seeps through him and settles like a weight just under his breastbone.

There's something in his chest just waiting to burst forth and Zeb doesn't know if it's going to come out as a roar or a sob. A whining growl makes it up his throat before he clamps a hand over his mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head.

He had gone through something similar when Kanan was killed not days before. To go through it again so soon was almost more than he can bear.

The kid hadn't even been able to see his homeworld free of Imperial occupation.

Zeb can't handle being on the ship for a second longer, doesn't know what he's going to do about sleeping quarters for the time being because he's not sure he'll be able to rest in his own room for some time. He drops down the ladder shaft and bolts out the bay doors, heading for the caves. He hopes no one comes after him – he needs a moment to grieve on his own, away from the ship and the crew and everything else that holds too many memories.

He loses track of the turns he takes and eventually finds himself in one of the back caverns that they had used for storage. His limbs are shaking and he can feel the urge to punch something coiling up in his arms. He wants to yell, to scream and cry but nothing will come. The pressure is there, building up just behind his eyes, in the back of his throat, in his lungs, but it won't release. He slams a fist into the rock wall with a snarl but barely feels it. He sinks to the floor.

A distant part of him feels guilty for not being with Hera and Sabine – they've lost the same people he has, after all; Hera lost her lover and a son, Sabine lost a father and a brother. But he's just so _tired_. This is exactly what he was so afraid of months ago when talking to Kallus…

He knows grieving is different for everyone and that grieving together can be healing in its own right. But with the exception of his dear old Gran, he's never had anyone to grieve with before and he's not entirely sure if that's what he wants right now. It feels selfish, but Zeb wants to hold onto Kanan and Ezra alone for a while. Besides, Sabine and Hera deserve to grieve alone too if they need to. He knows they'll have plenty of time to grieve together, as a family, later. But right now the pain is too raw, the wounds too deep.

Zeb rubs tiredly at his face and tilts his head back against the wall. If he's honest with himself, he really _doesn't_ want to be alone right now. But he doesn't want to burden Hera and Sabine with his pain and anger right then, not when they are also hurting. And Rex is not just grieving for Kanan and Ezra, but for Gregor, too. He and Wolffe are likely offering each other support right now.

Kallus though…. Kallus had proven himself a true rebel this last year and a surprisingly good friend. It had been a rocky friendship at first, one of trial and error and patience. Part of Zeb had still felt guilty for befriending someone who had had a direct hand in the slaughter of his people and that guilt had occasionally manifested as a foul mood or a scathing comment. Despite everything, though, they had made it work and after that quiet confession of fear and weariness in the forest, their friendship had deepened. They'd gone from good friends to best friends, to being practically glued at the hip when they weren't working. 

He hadn't expected such a friendship between him and Kallus but he's incredibly grateful for it, for him. He's only recently admitted to himself that he feels _more_ for him, too, but it's not something he dwells too much on. Or he tries not to, at least. 

He thinks that if he were to go to anyone right now for comfort, he'd go to Kallus. He used to go to Kanan, but he can't ever do that again now can he? Zeb groans and squeezes his eyes shut as another wave of grief washes over him.

Before he can think much of it, he hauls himself to his feet and goes in search of Kallus.

\--

Zeb finds him on one of the outcroppings around the small base. He's looking out over the expanse of Lothal before them, one knee drawn up to his chest. The orange glow of the setting sun catches on Kallus' hair, causing it to shine a brilliant gold. Zeb feels his heartbeat catch at the sight of him so obviously alive and well. 

Kallus turns to him at his approach and Zeb would feel embarrassed for being caught staring but Kallus smiles softly, tiredly.

"Hello, Zeb," he says quietly and Zeb's heart stutters again at his soft, low voice. It's jarring after the hellish day they've had and Zeb's having second thoughts – maybe this isn't a good idea.

"Zeb?"

Zeb feels something break in him at the sound of concern winding its way through Kallus' voice. The pressure building within him eases slightly and –

_Karabast_. Are those tears? He hadn't come up here to cry, for _Ashla's_ sake!

Kallus frowns and stands up. "Are you–?" 

Zeb closes his eyes, trembling. _Too much. It's all too much._

"Garazeb, hey, come here."

Zeb automatically moves forward; only Kallus calls him by his full first name – unless he's done something to really piss Hera off – and irony of ironies he feels _safe_ around Kallus. Safe enough to let go and fall apart in ways he can't around the others. Perhaps it's because he's seen Kallus at his lowest, or maybe it's because he's been slowly falling for him over the last few months; Zeb doesn't really care because Kallus is wrapping his arms around him.

He feels himself shudder at the contact and break down the middle, the pressure finally building until he can no longer take it. The gentle embrace is too much after all the violence and terror and grief of the day and –

And then he's curling into Kallus, burying his nose against his neck and the collar of his worn jacket – he must have changed out of the horridly drab and cutting Imperial disguise at some point – and clutching at his back. He screws his eyes shut tight but it does little to slow his tears and he shakes while taking gasping breaths of air.

"I've got you, Zeb. I'm so sorry. I've got you." Kallus holds him close, one arm around his ribs and back and another cradling his head, and whispers apologies and assurances into his ears. The words themselves don't really register to Zeb, just the deep soothing tone of his voice. It's comforting, but not enough to slow his tears at all.

A press of lips against the top of his head and words murmured into his short fur, however, causes his breath to hitch in an entirely different way. Distantly, Zeb knows the gesture is significant, knows that it means _something_. Maybe the feelings he tries not to think about are mutual? Maybe-- 

Another shudder shakes through his body and Zeb thinks that he might shatter apart if it wasn't for Kallus holding him so close. His crying is quiet but gasping, violent in the way it tears through him. He's still gasping and shaking and he nearly feels _sick_ from the force of it all, his stomach clutching with each sob. He tangles his hands in Kallus' jacket, wishing it and his shirt weren't between his hands and the smooth expanse of Kallus' back. He instinctively seeks out the comfort of warm skin, burying his face against Kallus' neck. He has his eyes squeezed so tightly closed that he sees rainbow colored dots and splotches manifest behind his eyelids.

Every time he thinks he might be close to empty, another memory of Ezra or Kanan or his long dead family crosses his mind and his sobs begin all over again. It's like he can't _stop_. He feels out of control and like he may never be the same, but Kallus continues to hold him through it all.

At some point – he has absolutely no idea how much time has passed – Zeb finds him in the ground with no recollection of the movement. He's still wrapped around Kallus, and Kallus around him, but now he's sitting curled up in the V of his legs, his own legs an awkward tangle. His head still rests on Kallus' shoulder, though he's no longer desperately pressing his face into his neck. Kallus holds him, rubbing his back and shoulders and once, briefly, scritching behind one of his ears.

Wrapped in Kallus' soothing scent, Zeb's sobs slow to hiccupping cries and sniffles and he finds himself speaking.

"It _hurts_ ," he growls, his voice sounding thick and wet to his own ears. "My – my chest feels aching and _empty_." He shakes his head and Kallus rubs soothingly at the back of his neck. "L- losin' Kanan was _awful_. I wasn't there when he- when it happened. I didn't wanna believe what Ezra was sayin' but then he was cryin' inta my chest and I held myself together because that's what - what he needed." 

His body shudders again and he reflexively grasps at Kallus again. His chest feels heavy and his stomach feels cramped but he seems to have finally run out of tears. Kallus turns his head and presses his lips to Zeb's temple. He stays like that, and Zeb takes comfort in his warm puffs of breath against his fur and skin.

"Losin' Ezra so soon after Kanan… it feels… I feel like I've been _gutted_. But it's not… the same as when I lost Lasan and my people. That hurt, too, of course it did. But this feels very different. It's... it's sharper. More cuttin' and deep. Personal." Zeb slowly unclenches his fingers from Kallus' jacket and begins rubbing his thumbs back and forth against the worn fabric. He opens his eyes and stares with an unfocused gaze at the curve of Kallus' throat.

"I'd–" he takes an unsteady breath "– I'd lost all but my gran before the Empire ever came to Lasan." Kallus makes an inquiring sound but doesn't interrupt. Zeb sniffles and says, "Earthquake," without elaborating. He continues quietly. "Losin' them still hurts but the holes they left are full and the pain is faded. My memories of them are now mostly colored with nostalgia. Kanan though… he was a brother, too. One of my best friends. Ezra was an obnoxious nephew. Kanan had saved me over and over again in so many ways and Ezra and brought back the child in me. Losing them so close together _hurts_."

The last bit comes out as a whine, his voice having gone quiet and raspy. He feels a bit embarrassed having said so much and he falls quiet. He wants to pull away, wants to run and hide again and lick his wounds in peace. But doing so would probably lead to making eye contact and he's _really_ not sure he could bear that much exposure right now. So he stays where he is.

Kallus doesn't say anything in response, for which Zeb is actually grateful. He needed to get the words _out_ but he can't bear to have an actual conversation about them right now. Besided, Kallus' silence doesn't make Zeb feel uncomfortable or unheard; it's not distant or dismissive. It's actually rather contemplative and searching, the way Kallus is making repetitive stroking motions not unlike the way rhythmic tapping he does when puzzling out an encryption or going over mission plans. 

And anyway, Zeb can feel Kallus' racing heart and the way his breaths cause his chest to hitch against his own. He's sure Kallus is processing his own grief right then, too. He wonders if Kallus has ever had someone to mourn before, or even the time and space. As much as he _hates_ it, as much as losing a loved one hurts, Zeb can't imagine not loving anyone enough to mourn their passing – whether it be because of death or the simple comings and goings that happen during a lifetime. 

Kallus confirms Zeb's musings not long later. "I…" he starts, his voice hushed, "I hadn't truly realized how much all you Spectres have come to mean to me. It's been a long time since I've allowed myself to form attachments. Even longer since I've… mourned anyone." Kallus' fingers clench into Zeb's clothing and he chances a glance up at the human's face. He's looking straight ahead and Zeb would bet he wasn't seeing any of the skyline in front of them. He licks his lips before continuing. "Any attachment, any grief… the Empire saw those as exploitable weaknesses. I quickly learned to lock away anything I ever felt..."

Zeb hums quietly to show he is listening without interrupting any thoughts going through Kallus' head right then. When Kallus tightens his grip enough to tug at Zeb's fur under his jumpsuit, Zeb slowly maneuvers his right arm until he's able to untangle Kallus' fingers and take his left hand into his own. Kallus detachedly threads their fingers together and Zeb gives his hand a fortifying squeeze; Kallus holds back with a death grip.

"I never expected to grow so fond of the others. Or them of me. Ezra especially. Kid was a brat most of the time but… had a good heart. He had so much empathy and love.." Zeb closes his eyes and sighs. Despite thinking he had already cried himself dry, Zeb feels a tear slide down his cheek. Damn that kid for doing whatever he had done. He doesn't care that it probably saved them and everyone on Lothal – Ezra _left_ them. He sniffles, angry, and Kallus tightens his grip on his hand again.

"After you all rescued me at the Battle of Atollon," Kallus continues softly, "Kanan had come to check on me and the others you had picked up. Despite everything I had done and all the time I had spent chasing you all and making your lives hell, he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder and _thanked me_. Welcomed me. I can't remember the last time someone had done either, let alone touched me in kindness." 

The way he said it so matter-of-factly, as though going without thanks or a gentle touch for so long was completely normal and unremarkable, breaks Zeb's heart.

"That's a lie," Kallus whispers, sighing. "I do remember when I had last experienced kindness before then. It was from you. On Bahryn." 

Something about that nearly causes Zeb to let out a whine, but Kallus is talking again before he has time to do more than reflexively tighten his grip on his hand. 

Kallus shakes his head a few times. "When you jumped to take out Thrawn's assassin...I swear my heart all but stopped. And then you were yelling at me to start the generators, that you'd be fine and I hit the button because I knew I had to even though I also knew you were still down there, somewhere. I nearly lost you today, Garazeb," he breathes, tilting his head to rest against Zeb's. "I nearly lost you and it would have been by my own hand."

Kallus' voice breaks on the last words at the same time Zeb feels a tear land on his head. Zeb is hit with an intense need to provide comfort, to hold Kallus closer, but their current position isn't good for that. Zeb lifts up his head and begins to pull away so they can shift around a little. He feels Kallus stiffen almost immediately, his spine straightening and his hand going completely lax in his. Zeb chokes back a frustrated sigh; he _knows_ Kallus – probably better than Kallus expects – knows he's probably thinking he's pulling away because he's uncomfortable and is rejecting his hushed confession. He knows Kallus.

He keeps his hold on Kallus' hand. "C'mon, Kal," he says softly. "I'm just shifting us around so we're both more comfortable." 

He blinks at the way Kallus goes charmingly _pink_ at his words, his freckles standing out darkly in contrast. Zeb doesn't say anything about it – his cheeks are already ruddy from crying anyway and commenting on it would only fluster him more. And as much as he'd like to see Kallus a bit more flustered under other circumstances – Zeb blinks again, feeling his own fur prickle with embarrassment. Mind carefully skirting around where that thought had been heading – now is _not_ the time – Zeb reaches forward and gently brushes away a stray tear from Kallus' cheek. 

Kallus startles slightly and turns his head away, eyes averted and jaw clenched.

Zeb sighs. _Stubborn, prideful bastard,_ he thinks a bit fondly.

He moves away from Kallus', shuffling around until he's able to lean against the cliff wall. Kallus has warily watched him the entire time, his expression guarded. 

"C'mere," Zeb repeats, grabbing Kallus' hand again and pulling him to him. Kallus goes easily and lets Zeb maneuver him around until he's bracketed between his legs, back to chest.

Kallus sits stiffly for a moment and Zeb can see that the flush has spread down his neck and under his collar. Resisting the urge to slip a clawed finger down the back of Kallus' jacket and give it a bit of tug, Zeb slowly wraps his arms around Kallus' middle and pulls him just a little closer.

"Is this ok?" he asks quietly, tucking his chin on Kallus' shoulder.

Kallus is silent and as the seconds tick by, Zeb gets a little uneasy. Despite their positions being almost the same as before only in reverse, Zeb worries he's crossed a line somehow or that he's pushed too fast or something. 

He's ready to pull away when Kallus rests his hands against Zeb's and finds a way to tangle some of their fingers together. He settles more firmly against him, relaxing until there's hardly any space between them.

Zeb sighs again, this time in contentment. He's trying to put words together to respond to what Kallus had said earlier when the man in question turns his head towards his. The motion brings their faces close enough together that they're nearly touching. He pauses there. Zeb freezes; he doesn't stiffen, doesn't pull back. He goes completely still and waits, hardly daring to breathe.

_Does Kallus know–?_

"It's fine," Kallus says, his voice low and gruff. And then he deliberately pushes his cheek against Zeb's, rubbing their facial hair together. 

Zeb lets out a shuddering breath, his unfinished question already answered. With the deliberate way he moved his head, Kallus _has_ to know the significance of that gesture. And of course he does; they've discussed Lasat culture before at great length and there's _no way_ Kallus could have done any research and _not_ have come across that particular detail. 

Zeb holds him a little tighter, takes a breath, and presses his cheek back.

The angle is a bit awkward but he's fine with that, especially when Kallus tilts his head back to rest on his shoulder, bearing the long expanse of his throat. Zeb reigns in the automatic impulse to lick and taste and presses his nose against it instead, breathing deep.

They sit quietly watching the end of the sunset, the sun's last rays washing the landscape in warm yellows and golds while casting long, stark shadows amongst the hills. 

Zeb still hurts desperately and he knows he will for a very long time. The losses of Kanan and Ezra are far too fresh for the holes they left behind to heal overnight. But talking with Kallus and sharing their pain has helped a little. He's surprised to find that he can breathe again, that some of the tightness constricting his chest has eased up.

Another surprise comes when he feels a purr rumble through his body. It catches and stutters occasionally before restarting but he's purring nonetheless. Despite everything, he takes it as a good sign; purring is an automatic response and not something he typically has too much control over. It's something that happens when a lasat is feeling particularly content. Safe. Happy. 

It feels weird to be happy amongst such aching loss – the emotions shouldn't be something you can feel at the same time, they're too juxtaposed. And yet here he is, feeling just that. The purring causing the emptiness in his chest to vibrate is proof enough. He thinks Kanan and Ezra would have understood, though. They'd probably have been glad, too.

Kallus rests his head against Zeb's. Zeb feels him smile a little and he smiles back, causing their facial hair to brush together again.

"There are two Spectres left other than yourself. Three if you include Chopper, four if you also include Rex," Kallus says. His tone is casual but Zeb picks up on an undercurrent of steel to his words. "With the war being far from over, what say you to making it our personal mission to keep them alive until the end of it?" 

Zeb's soft smile turns sharp. "I like this plan." Kanan and Ezra would approve of it, too. Tightening his hold on Kallus a little, he presses his head into the side of Kallus' meaningfully before continuing with resolve, "I'm not letting the Empire take anyone else away from me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and may the Force be with you 💛
> 
> Keep an eye out for future projects!

**Author's Note:**

> Pls come find me on tumblr @dinkryze!


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